


A Post-American Odyssey

by poorbasil



Category: Marco Rubio - Fandom, Political RPF, Political RPF - US 21st c., Ted Cruz - Fandom, election 2016
Genre: Aliens, Gen, M/M, Slow Burn, Some characters will die, additional tags will be added as i go along
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 08:48:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6463642
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/poorbasil/pseuds/poorbasil
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A new enemy faces America. One unmatched in military valor or intellectual might. Only by the strength of a coalition between America's unlikely heroes does the country have the chance at rising above the madness and despair to defeat the enemy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. First Contact

**Author's Note:**

> They should have known from the start, should have recognized the signs as the warnings that they were. But it was too late now, too late to start anew. Contact had been made. And they were not backing down. 
> 
> The year is 2018. That was the year it all began. The unexpected, the unpredictable, the unfortunate. 
> 
> Donald Trump secured the election two years prior, winning the presidency with a surprisingly strong majority vote. The media had predicted the worst, talking heads going on endless spews about how America had reached a desperate time. Yet, even more surprising than Trump's election, was the fact that America, under his presidency, had reached a state of unmatched success in all sectors. The establishment was in a frenzy, constantly attempting to undermine President Trump. Little did they know that Donald Trump was nothing compared to the faith that lay ahead for the nation in the years to follow.

**August 1, 2018**                                              

(on the radio)

Reporter:

**A small pod reportedly landed in a relatively uninhabited part of the Arizonian desert at about 0200 hours last night. According to passerby, Marcus Smith,  who also happens to be a self-proclaimed extraterrestrial expert, the pod, "just fell right outta the sky, like in 'em science-fiction movies." Smith further elaborated on his claim when I questioned him.**

**"Listen," he said to me, "Now the government doesn't want you to know this, but I believe, that as an American Citizen, it is _my duty_ to this nation, this Great Nation, to reveal the truth." He paused here, seemingly for dramatic effect, before continuing. "Listen, the truth is-" another pause as he looked back and forth suspiciously at nothing in particular before beckoning me in closer with a hurried gesture, whispering, " the truth is, that pod, it ain't no ordinary pod." I'd like to note, listeners, that I didn't ask him what an ordinary pod was...**

**"That pod," he said, "is an incubator for alien life."**

**"Alien life?" I said, making my skeptical nature known through my tone and admonished expression.**

**"Yes," he responded. "Alien life. And whatever you do, don't, under ANY circumstances, Open. That. Pod."**

**Smith proceeded to stare at me for a full thirty seconds after that, his beady black eyes appeared to be trying to unlock the secrets of my soul, to discover the true nature of my creation and purpose on this Earth, to reveal-"**

"Will you turn that shit off, Denny?"

 

"Bro, this is some heavy stuff right here," Denny said, turning up the volume as his friend Nick continued driving down the desolate desert highway.

 

"I'm trying to concentrate on the road, and it's difficult with that nonsense blasting out of the speakers," Nick responded, trying in vain to switch the radio station without taking his eyes off the road.

 

"Hey, cut it out! We specifically agreed that if I let you use my car then I get to decide what we listen to."

 

"Uh, I'm questioning my mental state at the time of that agreement," Nick grumbled, admitting defeat as his hand shifted back to the steering wheel.

 

"Besides," Denny continued, "the segment's over now anyways. You made me miss the end." He pouted as the radio show went to commercial break. The drive continued on in relative silence with Denny frequently filtering through the stations, much to Nick's annoyance. The blue Arizona sky slowly morphed into a deep purple, the sun's dying rays casting dark shadows over the blanket of sand outside the car.

 

Nick grunted as he turned on the brights and white light suddenly bathed the road ahead of them, illuminating the mix of gravel and tar that was the neglected Arizona highway. The sun had set quickly, the mix of violet hues that had painted the twilight sky had dissolved into pitch black, the brights creating a muted gray around the edges of their reach.

 

Nick drove on. The motel which they had booked, which Denny assured him had wifi and free breakfast, was only supposed to be a few more miles down. Suddenly, the radio station that Denny had finally settled on (Hans Zimmer's best hits) crackled out into a resounding static sound. Nick flinched, the involuntary movement accidentally steering the car out of the lane and awakening the dozing Denny with a startle.

 

"What the fuck man-" Denny began to demand, but the words quickly died on his lips, leaving his mouth hanging open and his eyes bulging. Nick had stopped the car, having driven them into the sand, but his hands remained clenched tight on the wheel, eyes transfixed in the same direction as Denny.

 

The black sky had been taken over, a dark red hue was quickly spreading across the night, ribbons of color entwining with the night, twisting into ominous shapes before converging into a single shape: a red light, and it was blinking.

 

Nick tried to put the car in reverse, but the gas pedal was stuck. The static grew louder, the haunting noise playing a roaring symphony with the revving of the engine.  Nick thought he heard Denny scream. He looked out the passenger side window to see nothing but a blinding white light. A being entirely made of pure energy reached inside the jeep.

 

The car was found the next day, the gas tank completely dry. Two bodies were inside, both entirely void of blood, resembling nothing more than husks of human men. A recording was stuck on replay within the vehicle, the words spoken were barely audible over the static interference: "don't, under ANY circumstances, Open. That. Pod," played softly into the vacant desert.


	2. The Life of an Ex-Senator

**"And I assure you, people of Arizona, an investigation is underway-"**

 

Marco Rubio switched off the television with a heavy sigh. Senator John McCain's press conference was nothing more than empty words to an equally empty minded audience. The news of the bodies found in the Arizonan desert had made national headlines, prompting the senator himself to make a statement to reassure the public. Marco was sure that McCain's people had found nothing in their supposed investigation. There was never anything left behind to find. A similar incident had occurred twice already, in the states of Colorado and Nevada.

 

Those desert states always had some freaky shit happening, Marco mused. He realized he really shouldn't be making light of these occurrences; people _had_ died.

 

Well, that wasn't his problem anymore. Nope. Keeping true to his word, Marco Rubio didn't run for reelection when his tenure in the senate was up. He didn't even bother with the effort of endorsing the new Republican candidate. Nope. He was done. Just done with it all. The slowness of congress, the slinging of insults, the whole persona he had to keep up during the presidential primaries; he was done with it all and he didn't regret it one bit. The political life just wasn't for him. He'd given it his best run and lost. And that was that.

 

Marco closed his eyes as he contemplated his life for what had to be the thousandth time this month. He hadn't done much in the two years since his stepping down from the senate. A few charity events here and there, some pro bono legal work and consul. Mostly, he just spent time with his kids and his wife, hanging around the house and working on editing his life story, a book he soon hoped to publish (if he could find a publisher that is.) If truth be told, Marco felt like a flop. He wasn't particularly happy with his life. Call it a mid-life crisis or what-have-you, but Marco felt as if there was nothing to look forward to. Yes, there was always his kids and his wife, but Marco needed something more, something exciting to keep him on his toes and engaged in his own life. 

 

He sighed again, softly this time, defeated,  as he moved to stand up, depositing the various papers he had scattered across his lap earlier with no real intention of reading, on the dining room table, not bothering where they landed. It didn't matter.

 

He couldn't talk to his wife. For all her sweetness, Jeanette simply did not understand what he was feeling. He knew she was more happy than not that he decided to leave public office, having never really been enthusiastic about his being there in the first place. Although she didn't dare express her joy outright, he could see it clear as day. He had the inkling feeling that she disapproved of his political ambitions, that she would have preferred had he simply stayed in Miami forever as a professor or something. He began to realize early on during his term in the senate that her supportive words were laced with subtle manipulation, her attempt to encourage he leave whenever he complained about one thing or another. Marco figured that she believed his stepping down was a positive for their relationship, giving her a chance to finally further her own career goals while he took on the responsibility of the stay-home-dad. It wasn't that he regret his decision to leave the world he worked so hard to be a part of behind, he truly didn't, but that also didn't mean he didn't miss some aspects about his old job and life.

 

Marco walked across the hallway and into his bedroom, half dragging his legs behind him in a snail's pace. He grunted as he reached the side of his empty bed, pulling back the covers quickly and nearly throwing himself beneath them. _Tomorrow would be a better day_ , he told himself, the last coherent thought fluttering through his brain as he closed his eyes to sleep. It was 2:00 pm.

 


	3. What's Going on in America?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A brief interlude

**August 5, 2018**

**President Donald Trump tweets response to ex-Democratic running mate and Vermont senator, Bernie Sanders, regarding the recent mysterious and unsolved murders that have been occurring across the country:**

****

**_'Bernie,_ **

**_have you seen my wall?_ **

**_It WILL protect us.'_ **

**Sanders, in his recent statement to the press, had this to say:**

**_"America, we are under attack. Not by man, or even by his ideals, but by a force with which we have never faced before. We need to stand UNITED in order to defeat them, this foreign enemy..."_ **

**Sanders has stated on the record that the "enemy" facing the United States is most vehemently extraterrestrial. He claims that he "had his best men" investigate the matter and that he received feedback from an undisclosed government agency that aliens are among us. Despite the absurdity of the senator's claims, his remarks have lead to the organization of thousands of college students across the country. We received this response when we asked one of the students what exactly they were supporting:**

**STUDENT: "The threat to this nation is real.**

**Aliens.**

**And Sanders is the only person willing to stand up to them. He is the only person who constantly puts us, the American people, above his own safety, ensuring that we know The Truth at a risk to his own personal safety."**

**REPORTER: "And what do you think of the proof Sanders has stated backs up his position? Do you think it credible to believe such serious allegations from "undisclosed" sources?"**

**STUDENT: (looking at the camera incredulously) "Of course?!"**

**(cut to the student running away to a mass of unsuspecting pedestrians exiting a subway station, waving a large sign in his hand proclaiming "Students 4 Sanders/Aliens 4 America")**


	4. Sad Boy

**August 16, 2018**

**"Do we really need to be scared of aliens?"** read the headline on morning edition of _The Miami Herald,_ the thick letters printed in black ink caused Marco's eyes to be involuntarily drawn to it before promptly chucking the pile of papers into the recycling bin. Why his wife insisted they pay for a subscription when he never requested one was beyond him, and besides, it was too early to even bother reading that nonsense coherently. He may have said many things about Bernie Sanders back in his campaign days, but nothing came close to describing the type of absolute nutter that man had become. Seemed like the socialism had gone to his head.

 

Whatever. Marco didn't have the time of day to entertain these crazy stories.

 

Well, technically, he did have the time. He had all the time in the world seeing as he had elected to sit around the house for two days straight doing absolutely nothing while his wife was chaperoning the kids on some week long school trip. But that didn't mean he wanted to waste his time reading crazy conspiracy theories created by an equally crazy old man.

 

Marco furrowed his brows as he went back to the chair he'd been sitting in on and off for about three hours now, his body sinking further into the plush fabric while he tried to relax. He couldn't remember anything of major significance that he'd partaken in this month, and for some reason, that troubled him. He began to run through his life over the last few weeks, concentrating on remembering everything he did and mumbling to himself as he projected his thoughts out loud.

 

_I took the car out to get gas, that was, uh, Monday? Today is Saturday, I think. Or it might be Sunday? Should I be in church right now?_

_Did I go to church last week?_ He didn't.

_I picked up Daniella after school last week._ That wasn't him; he was asleep in the passenger seat while Amanda drove them to her sister's school.

 

He couldn't quite remember any much else. Everything was a blur, day after day, the same thing blended into the next.

 

Marco shook his head, trying to eradicate the suppressing fog shrouding his mind and clear his brain. He got up from the chair with a groan, hearing he cracking of his bones as he moved to stand. He felt stiff and sore at the same time as he absentmindedly let his legs carry him around the house. He stopped at the entrance to the kitchen space and looked up at the glowing neon red light of the microwave clock.

 

12:57 pm. 

 

He blinked, standing there with his hands dangling down heavy at this side as he stared at the blinking light.

 

12:58 pm.

 

Was he supposed to be doing something right now? He probably should be. Did Jeanette leave him a list of housework to do? He clenched and unclenched his fits, rotating his wrists in little circles along with the movement.

 

12:59 pm.

 

His eyes were growing bleary, his attempt at distracting himself for the day proved to be entirely ineffective as he simply retreated back into the stagnant state of his mind, pondering his existence and purpose for life while he switched between sitting in his chair and laying on the couch. What was the point of time anyways when he had nothing to do?

 

The numbers flashed quickly before his eyes.

 

1:00 pm.

 

Numbers, nothing but abstract notions of time that had no concrete meaning. Marco lifted a hand to his face, feeling the stubbly hair growing on his cheeks. He hadn't shaved in three days. However, it wasn't like he had anywhere to be or anyone to meet. Ah, what the hell. A shave would give him something to do, something to preoccupy his mind with if only for a few minutes.

 

He shuffled to the bathroom, his feet like heavy weights as he dragged them across the tile floor and into the small room, positioning himself to stand in front of the mirror without actually seeing. He switched on the facet, listening to the water run for a moment without truly hearing it before dunking his head forward into the shallow basin and splattering his face with lukewarm water.

 

He knew what the media had said about him. Calling him a phony and a fake for just leaving the party behind and abandoning all his supporters and his state for that matter. His ambition had dissipated  to the size of a pin needle in the last six months alone. Trump had even made a statement about him, proclaiming in an off-hand comment during some interview, "What happened to Little Marco?" and likening him to a state of low energy surpassing that of Jeb Bush. 

 

He didn't care. Let them say what they wanted. It was all irrelevant to him now. White noise in the back of his mind.

 

He switched on his electric razor, the sound of the spinning blade along the running water was pounding in his ears at an abnormally loud volume. He rooted the cause for his seemingly hypersensitive senses back to his lack of sleep. Despite being the only person in the house, Marco still hadn't be able to sleep normally. He'd lie in bed, his consciousness always on the verge of slipping but he couldn't quite seem to give it that final push in order to lull himself to sleep. He would lay there beneath an obsessive amount of blankets and sheets for Floridian weather, day after day and night after night, his conscious mind playing tricks on him as he tried to will himself to give into his mental exhaustion and just relax. It was easier said than accomplished however. At least he wasn't restless. If he was, then he was sure Jeanette would have kicked him to the couch by now. Although she might still do that anyways.

 

He patted his face dry with a towel, wiping off any soapy residue, then he stretched his arms out in front of him, pushing down against the porcelain counter top with a tight grip as he craned his neck downward, not wanting to see the resignation in his own eyes. He knew for a while now that Jeanette wasn't happy in their relationship. He wasn't a fool and didn't want to be played for one. Call it intentional blindness if you must. He had thought it was because of his political career, and his reason for leaving office was as much of a last chance to save his marriage as it was to avoid the shame of the surely foreseen loss he would have taken if he were to run again for congress.

 

But now he saw. It had been two years. Two years of no improvement and continued stagnation, not only on his part, but he saw it in Jeanette more and more with each passing day. In fact, if he were to be honest with himself, he believed things had just gotten worse between them. At least when he was off in Washington or criss-crossing the country he could avoid his familial problems, knowing his wife preferred to be kept out of the limelight as it was. The separation had been good for him. Even though it left him with an incredibly guilty feeling gnawing his insides every time he turned off the lights in a foreign hotel room, every time he closed his eyes, lying along in a king sized bed with nothing but the truth to keep him company in the darkness.

 

He knew raising the kids had been difficult for Jeanette without him there, but his own selfishness forced him to push the concern to the back mind as he focused on what he had believed to be his passion.

 

He still loved Jeanette, and he knew she loved him as well, but it was a different type of love. His love with her was soft and stable, unchanging and constant; it was both the cornerstone of his life and the source of his contention. The level cognitive dissonance he had to contend with everyday left him physically and mentally drained. And even now, after two years, he would be the fool he claimed he wasn't if he held the belief that things had improved.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I will be updating as I write more chapters. I reread a few times but didn't extensively proof-read this yet because I'm too excited to continue, so I anyone points out an error it's all on me. Please comment! I'd love to hear what you think. Stay turned folks. I have great plans for this fic.


End file.
